New Becomings

  maybe consciousness  is the space beyond time - speed is just a qualifier in time.  Over the years, as I have created, held, used, witnessed, and removed myself from a wide variety of situations, it is apparent that there is a difference between the spaces people create within Space - and it's important for me to try to define those spaces and how people move within them, for my own clarity. (I share these writings in case someone else cares about this type of stuff.) The energetic signatures/responses of individuals and people in groups become  clearer when we are immersed in different spaces. My expression or reason of being within the spaces I create or find myself in adjusts toward responsibility - the ability to respond according to the circumstance generated or presented. Once you discern how differently people view the world, each other, nature, the land, personal and public environments, and our conscious/unconscious roles, life is much easier to navigate....

  Evil, bad. Goodness, good. And everything in between... That's it. Experience can be woven with any kind of illusion or delusion - time, pressure, motion, and temperature - ideas, silence, beauty, and judgements about everything. Within microseconds we decide what's what and go from there; except, a lot of it is just a mangled mess of energies. Most of us don't bother with the subtle energies that dictate our lives; we cling to the obvious, the loud vibrations that immediately grab our attention. We make up stories about the things that jar us, stories that make sense to our minds because our minds are suspiciously susceptible. We make up stories about the intent of others, meanwhile, we don't even look at our own intentions. We're grown toddlers roaming around without a compass, or, with a compass we were given by other toddlers who thought they understood the nature of reality and made a commercial about it. We try to create things that might mean something - be...

4am again, Attempting to explain to myself what the silence is saying...  Energy streams through every pore, and I can feel the Field, almost tangibly - I t seems like the torus is larger than it was, or at least I sense it more. It once felt like an aura about a foot around my body, yet now an infinite awareness that needs grounding. If not, it will just keep flying outward and forging inward with no real result, nothing 'useful' to gain except a momentum into and out of nothingness and all.  But, the expectation of usefulness is an old paradigm based on lack. Like, what's the point of doing anything unless it produces something worthy of knowing or creating? And then, what to do with that knowledge or creation? A continuous loop of doing/getting/using/discarding on the path to somewhere else... It's a disease. The narcissists of world dominance have convinced most of us that unnecessary labour towards unlimited growth is a thing. I stopped trying to convince myself th...

  As a writer, have you ever come to an infinite point where you feel that no combination of words can adequately convey your ideas? In the past, as I experimented with different forms of writing, there was a sense of being comfortable in whatever snippets I could muster. It didn't really matter if anything made complete sense to me or anyone, or not. That was fine. Then I got on a stream-of-consciousness roll for a while, starting with seemingly fully formed concepts and an outpouring of words I could edit later. It was great, way too many pages though, and I couldn't format it into a logical sequence, no matter how I tried. It became overwhelming. (I don't think in words or images, that's why writing or talking is helpful to define what I'm actually thinking or feeling, however limited and incomplete the communication may be) But now, it's nearly impossible to get any one idea out... It's not as though I've hit a wall or have some block, it's more ...

  We've been sold the idea that caretaking and homemaking are for the less ambitious folks in our society; those who don't have the means or wherewithal for 'real success' - yet it is the very nature of homemaking/caregiving that creates environments everyone can thrive in. When comfort and needs at home are met with the love and commitment of a caretaker, the family becomes whole (this includes chosen families, not just traditional ones), the community prospers, and society progresses; as those who are nurtured outshine those who are not. Outsourcing the essential elements of homemaking creates a commodification of these roles broken down into unemotional categories of cooking, cleaning, organizing, child-rearing, and active empathy - jobs that can be done by anyone needing to work for low wages. These roles are seen as boring and unadventurous, left to the supposed weakest-minded of society, because they're so simple that anyone could do it. But not everyone can d...

  We live on a spectrum between nihilism and absolutism - between emptiness and spiritual bypass - between disconnection and certainty - between existential collapse and dissociation from life...  Balance equals coherence  in an age that mistakes intensity for clarity. When systems, individual or social, lose coherence, they default to extremes.  Across politics, culture, religion, and personal identity, worldviews have hardened into poles. Certainty has become a virtue. Ambivalence is treated as weakness. To stand firmly on one side feels safer than to remain in the unsettled middle, where questions linger and complexity refuses to resolve itself. This polarization is not a sign of collective strength, fighting for supreme dominance. It is a symptom of  widespread dysregulation . And this is why opposing camps often resemble each other more than they realize - they share the same dysregulated system, simply expressing opposite poles. Extremes offer relief ...

  When a woman's response/reaction to deep disrespect becomes a problem for those around her - there's a much bigger issue.  We're not talking about unintentionally hurtful remarks/actions or drunken outbursts with the heat of emotion, we're talking deliberate deceptions that feel like a slow death by a thousand cuts. The mind can't comprehend it, the heart is bewildered, broken, and the nervous system is on constant alert.  I've always been pretty good at bringing calm back into my being through rhythmic breathing, meditation, and stream-of-consciousness writing... these things have barely scratched the surface over the past few months. I took a much needed break from social media, unfriended a bunch of people, and visited with those who've known my soul for eons. I cried the kind of tears that needed to escape, else they'd drown out the light. I lost trust in everybody around me. There are a number of peer-reviewed studies that suggest emotional trauma...

 Though people profess to admire transparency, they are curiously fond of secrets; wearing them like finely tailored coats, too heavy in the summer heat, yet impossible to shed for fear of feeling exposed. To stand bare and firmly in the light seems a kind of death, so they build little fortresses for a sense of control, however momentary - an illusion of safety, as though a hidden truth might preserve them from judgement or loss. The irony lingers in the air like perfume: what they fear most - the gaze seeing them whole - is the very thing that would save them. Only in the fragile risk of transparency could they hope to touch something like inner peace. People cling to their secrets not out of malice, but from the quiet dread of accountability. To keep something hidden is to escape the mirror, to delay the moment when truth demands its due. They tell themselves it is about privacy, discretion, even dignity - but beneath it all is the fear of being measured, of having to answer for...

 Cue the Bongos, Flutes, Sitars, Ouds, Tartarian Bells, and Birdsong...   If the universe were a poker game played in the back of a cosmic jazz club, it would seem that the narcissists, charlatans, and oily-palmed power merchants are starting to fold. Not because they’ve grown a conscience (don’t hold your breath, sweet summer child), but because the very cards they’ve been cheating with are disintegrating in their hands—turning into truth-serum-soaked-star-shaped biodegradable confetti. The world is shedding its snakeskin and cracking its old, crusty carapace of corruption to reveal a softer, more luminous underbelly:  Integrity. A word once considered old is now back in fashion like bell-bottoms and vinyl records. But how do we know the rot is collapsing and that Honesty is having its moment in the sun? Let’s take a peek- Whistleblowers and Weirdos with Truth Lasers... The whistleblowers—those brave souls with flaming hearts and fireproof underpants—crawling ...

Many people assume I'm naive at best, stupid at worst..  and that my existence, appearances, and talents are lucky draws, having nothing to do with continually overcoming self-imposed limitations. Many people don't think I deserve what I have, don't deserve to be happy or successful, feeling the need to trigger me into a negative reaction, making them feel superior - because those people also assume that  I'm superior to them - Meanwhile, I'm just trying to master mySelf and leave others to master their own processes.  You may not understand this, but, over my lifetime, people monitor what I do and even mimic my expressions in an attempt to gain access to some kind of perceived circumstantial privilege..? What they don't understand is that it is not about exterior circumstances, it's about who and what I am . I've chosen to hide these understandings until now. Here is where I am: Standing up in Full Force, looking Life straight in the Eye, and letting It...

I'm figuring out how to get on with the rest of my life here without screaming into the void and succumbing to the 'that's-just-the-way-it-is' attitude of many generations before now - This may just be another feminist cry against the patriarchy, wailing in the distance, not enough to affect anything or anyone, but I need to call it out: To the men who subconsciously listen in rapt to the systemic sexism that has been stroking their egos since before they were born, as their 'hard wiring' allows them to treat women as objects and servants, yet wear carefully crafted public masks of allyship - I Call You Out. And, to the women who use their objectification, utilizing the same inherited and ingrained system, to control people and climb proverbial ladders - I Call You Out. Why would anyone try to change anything if they benefit from it? What is the benefit? Superiority? Domination? Survival? This system of imbalance, inherited and ingrained, is yet another privileg...

  Here’s the thing about not caring what happens: it’s liberating.  Don't get me wrong, I float in a boundless well of compassion, but it's detached from personal affect even as I feel things to the core - that visceral heaviness punching the gut doesn't actually impact my beingness. I experience good, bad, and indifference, then watch what happens. And, I still take actions I think might help situations or people in some way or other - whether anyone knows it or not makes no difference to me - I do it anyway for some reason. Sometimes people thank me, and sometimes they get angry about the things I choose to say or do... Whatever.   It's like stepping off a carousel you were tired of riding - you watch the painted horses bob up and down, endlessly looping, and think, “Well, I guess it just goes on with or without me.” And you’re fine with that. You’ve got no grand illusions about saving the world or stopping it from spinning. The world, after all, doesn’t need saving. ...

Releasing, letting go, dissolving, clearing out - a time to reflect on the ways that did not honour my inner awareness. Inklings went unacknowledged until it was too late - too late to simply move with the undercurrent, even though it was the right direction, there was nothing on the horizon to show my location, as in the easy summer days of floating around under the sun and moon, beside the treelined shores. It was a tumultuous view, foreign yet familiar. I was almost drowning, swirling in turbulence, because I didn't trust myself and fought the flow. I popped up at the last minute, gasping for air, to the demands of others wanting to know what happened... those inklings then became obvious obstacles, challenges and confusions to overcome - not the lifeline I expected, but the one I needed. It is a perfect time to become free of those emotional and psychological burdens, to transform once again, to reset and reclaim what's rightly mine - The misunderstandings of anyone, includ...

  "Youth is the gift of nature, but age is a work of art." - Stanislaw Jerzy Lec Arriving at the crossroads of a primal scream and a calm wisdom, the fire of younger days are tempered into a slow burn, flickering into the steady pull of grace; no longer one to rush or chase, and moving with the certainty of tides, this inevitable presence is the setting sun shining on the rising moon. Here is a maturity that does not boast or demand attention, but a lingering specter, heavy with the weight of lives touched, dreams shaped, and storms weathered. Space itself is drawn to this gravity, a poise that doe s not sparkle with the need to catch the eye - it gleams like polished gold, soft and steady, asking nothing more. Time has pressed and wrought a strength that is quieter than steel but infinitely more lasting. To listen more than to speak, yet with a voice, when necessary, carrying the echoes of lessons hard-won and heartbreak understood. There is no bitterness in this wisdom, no...

  When I was around 10 years old, I somehow realized that I didn't think in words, so I asked people around me: "Do you think?... Like, in sentences, with words?" Blank stares and looking upward for an answer, friends tried to describe their thought processes - I asked again just a few weeks ago, some friends and I were hanging out - The answers, basically, were all "yes", they thought with words. I've come to understand my lack of internal wordiness, ironic for a writer, as "unsymbolized thinking." Every moment pulses with an insistence, waiting to be pierced, lifted to the mouth of my mind, and chomped with fervor; life itself is woven with subtle threads of metaphor. The world is a reflection of something more profound, yet elusive - I chase it relentlessly and never quite catch it. There's another term I came across years ago, as an adult, which is "aphantasia" - the inability to visualize. I had read about the power of visualizat...

 "A man without ethics is a wild beast loosed upon this world." ~Albert Camus In the wilds of the animal kingdom, 'survival of the fittest' dictates that those best adapted to their environment through physical strength, strategic cunning, or social cooperation, will thrive and propagate their genes. The Darwinian concept, central to evolutionary biology, underscores the brutal and unforgiving struggle for dominance and survival. While this law of nature governs the animal world, it also provides a lens through which we can examine human societies and political systems - a glimpse into how humans, even with our elevated reasoning and grandiose sense of selves, in the evolutionary cycle of things, are still just animals.   The animal world operates on a relatively simple principle: the strongest, smartest, and/or the most adaptable organisms will survive, while the weaker or less adapted perish. Whether it's a lion hunting in the savannah or an antelope evading cap...

  A disorder is rapidly developing, infecting the disaffected, festering within minds of fractured internal states, and spreading across society: Narcissism. Narcissism is a particularly insidious affliction, slithering through our lives, disguised as charm, power, and seductive allure. But beneath the surface lies something more sinister; an insatiable hunger for validation, a constant need to be admired, desired, adored, and the center of attention. For those who unwarily fall victim to narcissistic assault, it can feel like being caught in a never-ending whirlwind, spun around by someone else's need to feel superior and in control. The abusers, the aspiring puppet-masters, will leave their fragile prey crumpled in a shadow of who they once were.  In this growing societal dynamic between exploiters and victims, what's lost is the victims' sense of autonomy, its agency, they no longer recognize who they are in this world - but here is where the antidote lies... Self-Esteem...

  Slipping into a nebulous void, an insidious breadth and depth, weightless, yet heavy to the wandering mind. Reeling in and out of reality, crashing into the walls of corporeality and hitting the coveted ceiling; heavens or annihilations. All those flies of bygone beliefs are still desperately trying to escape through sealed windows to the future outside. Life flickers and fades as the viewfoils of time slowly unravel in the almighty projector once portraying a divine storyline – in these moments, Truth reveals itself, in fits and starts, in togethers and aparts. The hollow echo of grand anecdotes and abandoned laughter is a tragicomedy with a variety of obscure monologues, punchlines, and epilogues. Melancholy and nostalgia braid a kind of mirthful misery in the theatre of existence. The outer world continues to swirl, oblivious to all the grief and gratitude attending the performance inside – revealing revenants from other dimensions, reminding the congregation of what still...